


Tell Me I'm Pretty

by sarapod (four_right_chords)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Dating, Dating Plans, First Time, M/M, Morons Moroning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 01:48:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/four_right_chords/pseuds/sarapod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick Kane’s not that kind of girl. Jonny’s just not sure what kind of girl he <i>is</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me I'm Pretty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coggs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coggs/gifts).



> his is for [coggs](http://archiveofourown.org/users/coggs/pseuds/coggs), who asked for a story in which Jonathan Toews is as bad at dating as he appears to be in real life, and then betaed her own present. Thanks for following me down this rabbit hole and making yourself at home.
> 
> VERY IMPORTANT NOTE: This was written and published well before the Kane rape allegations and subsequent shit show. I am choosing to leave my Kane-centric fic up. I'm proud of the work, and I feel a near-total separation between the character generated by fandom based on Patrick Kane and actual Patrick Kane, who is almost certainly a douchebag rapist. That said, I strongly believe that Kane is almost certainly a douchebag rapist. The fact that I wrote about him, and chose to leave published the fic I wrote about him, should by no means be taken as an endorsement of him, his actions, or his douchebag rapist ways.

Jon knows Pat likes guys. It’s one of a million drunken confessions that spilled out in the dark of their rookie hotel room, both of them high on victory and whatever alcohol they’d managed to get their hands on. He thinks it came in the context of some kind of drinking game, something involving answering questions and taking shots, but what he really remembers is Pat’s face after he said, “I don’t fuck girls,” reckless and stubborn, looking him in the eye and daring him to make something out of it. 

Jonny had just poured out another shot, said, “So you fuck guys?” and pushed it towards Pat, who said, “Yeah,” and tossed his head back as he took the shot. “Is that gonna be a problem?”

Jonny shifted awkwardly, poured himself another, took it, and muttered, “No, I - I don’t, but I think I’d - I’d like to, I think, maybe.”

They don’t talk about it much, but Jon appreciates that someone else knows, that someone else is dealing with what he’s dealing with. He appreciates that there’s someone he can tell about his furtive off-season hook-ups and around whom he doesn’t have to act excited about the girls who throw themselves at him. He thinks Pat feels the same way, even if he doesn’t share as much as Jonny does. Jonny doesn’t really ask. Their lives are so fucking full to begin with that getting laid is usually more trouble than it’s worth. 

Pat’s the only person other than David and Dan who Jonny tells about Kevin, the friend of Dan’s he gets semi-serious with during the summer of 2011. Kevin knows the deal, that Jonny isn’t planning to come out any time soon, and it’s just such a fucking relief to have someone he can be with without the constant low-lying fear that they’re going to run to the press. Jonny decides to let Pat know not long after they’ve been eliminated and gone their separate ways for the summer. He’s laying on the couch in his living room in Winnipeg talking to Pat, Kevin’s supposed to be coming over in an hour, and he just feels so _good_. So when the conversation hits a natural lull, he says, “Hey. I, um. I met someone.”

There’s a pause, then, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jonny says, and he’s smiling. “He’s pretty cool. Um, he’s not a hockey fan.”

Pat snorts. “What are you gonna talk about then?”

Jonny shrugs. “He doesn’t mind listening.” He pauses, then says, “I … I like him, Kaner. I don’t normally … I like him.”

Pat’s voice is soft and kind of … Jonny’s not sure what, but he says, “That’s good, Jon.” The conversation moves on after that, but Jon’s happy Pat knows. 

The relationship ends when Jonny gets his concussion and anything that isn’t brooding in the dark loses its appeal. He tells Pat - because that’s what he does, he tells Pat - and he’s not sure how to take Pat’s lack of expression at the news. But after a minute, he (very lightly) bumps his shoulder into Jonny’s and says he’s sorry and that it sucks, and Jonny bumps him back and agrees, and things are a little better.

The lockout happens, and Jonny’s rage is working its way down from a 10 to what he considers a healthy 8 when Patrick leaves for Switzerland. And Jonny gets it, he does - after Patrick’s less than classy postseason he needs something to keep him on the straight and narrow, both in the public eye and his own head. That doesn’t mean Jonny doesn’t miss him, doesn’t resent every time he sees Patrick in yellow and blue instead of Hawks red. They start Skyping when Patrick’s playing in Biel, though, and it helps. Jonny maybe didn’t realize how much he would miss Patrick until Patrick’s farther away than a short flight. He maybe didn’t notice how distracting Patrick’s mouth is until he’s watching it move on a webcam for an hour at a time.

It’s after one of Patrick’s games, midnight in Switzerland but just settling into midafternoon in Chicago, when Pat pushes his hands through the disaster he calls a head of hair and says, “I’m just so fucking beat. I’m playing hard and I haven’t slept good lately, you can probably tell - I look like dogshit.” 

And Jonny can’t help himself, says, “No, you, uh. You look good.”

Patrick stills, looks up slowly. “Yeah?” He sounds cautious, like he’s not sure what Jonny’s getting at. Jonny doesn’t blame him. He’s not sure himself. But - 

“Yeah,” he says, laughing self-consciously and not meeting Patrick’s eyes. “Um.” He looks up. “Yeah.” 

Patrick’s smile is like something really ridiculously bright.

Jonny’s embarrassed as fuck the first time he tells Patrick he wishes he could touch him, but the look on Patrick’s face is worth it. He does wish he could touch Patrick, thinks about it all the time - what it’s going to be like when he finally gets his hands on him, all that muscle rolling and flexing under Jonny’s fingers. He tells Patrick that one night, sucks it up and tries to be a decent … whatever this is, and the expression on Pat’s face is better than Jonny had hoped for. When Jonny finally calls him to tell him the lockout is over and he can come home, he finishes with, “And I can finally do everything we’ve been talking about, put my hands on you wherever I want.” Patrick bites his lip and grins and it’s so fucking attractive that Jonny briefly considers stabbing himself in the leg with a pen just to have something else to focus on.

Patrick knocks on Jonny’s door at 9:30 PM Chicago time at the beginning of January, and Jonny’s heart is in his mouth and his stomach is doing all sorts of weird shit. He opens the door and _there Pat is_ , he’s grinning that ridiculous, dangerous, solid gold grin of his and he says, “Hi, Jonny.”

Jonny grabs Pat absolutely gracelessly, growling, “Get in here,” and drags him into the apartment. He kicks the door shut without letting go, yanks Patrick to him and finally, finally kisses him. Patrick kisses back with all the pent-up energy Jonny expected, hands going into Jonny’s hair and holding on. And yeah, this is good, this is what Jonny wanted, and he’s shoving Pat’s bag onto the floor and pushing off his coat and moving his mouth down Pat’s jaw and Pat’s gasping into his ear and it’s exactly what he’s been hoping for until he hears, breathlessly, “No, Jonny - Jonny, stop.”

Jonny picks up his head from where he’s sucking a hickey into Pat’s neck, brow furrowed in confusion. “What, you don’t like biting? Because that’s fine, but you - ” and he reaches down and gropes Pat’s dick, which seems to like biting just fine. Pat’s arching up into his grip, but then he’s shoving Jonny away, and Jonny doesn’t understand what’s going on _at all._

“No,” Pat says, and his jaw’s starting to jut. “Not yet.”

Jonny is so, so confused. “You don’t want to fuck?” he asks. “I thought - we’ve been talking about it for months. I thought we were on the same page here.” He gestures, again, to Pat’s erection. Jonny likes Pat’s erection. He wants to get to know it better. With his mouth. And ass, if he’s lucky.

Pat rolls his eyes. “Of course I want to fuck, asshole,” he says. He doesn’t say anything else, though, just stares at Jonny, and Jonny knows that look. It’s the look Pat gets when he’s stuck on something, and nothing, not God or Q or Jonny, will keep him from whatever it is. It’s stupid hot and Jonny’s moving back towards Pat before he can think about it, only to receive a sharp shove to the middle of his chest.

“No means no, Jonny,” Pat snaps. He’s starting to look honest-to-God mad now.

“So you want to fuck, but you don’t want to fuck?!” Jonny snaps back. “Oh, that makes sense! Thanks, thanks for your help with that. I’ve only been thinking about fucking you for _months._ ”

“You gotta work for it,” Pat says, and Jonny thinks his head might actually explode. 

“Work for it,” he repeats, too dumbstruck to say anything else.

Pat nods, then grins. “Nice girls don’t put out until at least the third date, Jonny,” he taunts, and _oh._ Jonny thinks he might be getting this.

“The third date,” he repeats, like a particularly stupid parrot. “You … you want to go on a date?”

“Take me out, treat me nice,” Pat says, and he’s teasing, but he’s still got that look in his eye, the one that says he’s not actually kidding.

Jonny stands very still for a long moment, just staring at Pat, but - okay. Okay, fine. Jonny bends down abruptly, grabs Pat’s coat off the floor and throws it at him. “Put your coat back on!” Jonny half-yells, feeling a little crazed. 

Pat raises his eyebrows at Jonny but puts his coat on, the look on his face about what Jonny’d expect if Pat was trying to avoid provoking an angry dog. Jonny grabs his own coat and scarf and hat, shoves his feet into boots, and crosses his arms over his chest, waiting for Pat to get with the program.

“What are we doing here, Jonny?” Pat asks.

“Going out! What does it look like?” Jonny says. He’s pretty sure his hands are doing something weird in the air. “You wanna go out, I’m taking you out, we’re going out!”

“Jon,” Pat says, and now he _sounds_ like he’s trying to soothe an angry dog. “It’s 9:30 at night. On a Wednesday. I came here straight from the airport, I don’t even know how many hours I’ve been awake - ”

But Jon could not be less interested. All he’s wanted for months is to get his hands on Kaner, and if Kaner’s gonna set up barriers, Jon’s gonna knock them down as quickly as humanly possible. He closes the distance between himself and Pat and put his hands on Pat’s shoulders and, wow, his eyes are really blue. 

Jon swallows and brings a hand up to cup Pat’s face, thumb sweeping over a cheekbone. “I have been wanting you for months,” he says, voice almost totally steady. “If this is what I have to do to get you, I want to do it right now. As quickly as possible. Okay?”

Pat licks his lips and nods. “Okay, Jonny.”

They stand there for a second, Jonny’s thumb stroking over Pat’s cheek, before Pat clears his throat and steps back. “Your show, bud,” he says, and gestures at the door.

Twenty minutes later they’re pulling into the drive-through at Portillo’s, Pat’s laughing pretty hard, and Jonny’s cursing his existence. “Fuck off, you love Portillo’s,” he grumbles. It’s not like they had a ton of options anyway. The Loop’s dead on weeknights. Jonny’s working with what he’s got. 

“Obviously,” Pat says, “they put cake in a milkshake. They’re geniuses. But I said take me _out,_ Jonny. The same shit we get after practice whenever you unclench your asshole enough to let us doesn’t count.” He slurps obnoxiously on his cake shake. Part of Jonny’s really focused on Pat’s mouth wrapped around the straw, but most of him is seriously considering dumping the shake on Pat’s head.

They’re in his car, so he doesn’t, but it’s a close-run thing.

Patrick makes Jonny take him back to his own condo that night, after stopping back at Jonny’s to grab his shit. He doesn’t let Jonny come up, but he does let him kiss him in the parking garage at Patrick’s building. Jonny feels Patrick start to move away as his hand tightens in Patrick’s hair, and when he opens his eyes he sees Patrick looking back. Jonny watches as Patrick brings up his hand and gently removes Jonny’s from his hair.

“You’re going to fucking kill me,” Jonny says, “you know that, right?”

“Dates, Jonny,” Patrick sing-songs, but Jonny doesn’t miss the reluctance with which he exits the car.

* * *

So, okay. Patrick wants dates. Three dates, Jonny’s pretty sure - or, he’s hoping, two in addition to their trip to Portillo’s (it may not have met Patrick’s standards, but it was a genuine effort, okay?). Now that he knows the terms he’s under, he feels looser, more confident. If there’s one thing Jonny knows how to do, it’s rise to the occasion when challenged. And unlike a frankly embarrassing number of hockey players he knows, he’s not one of those guys who managed to make it to his mid-twenties without going on any actual dates. Jonny’s dated. He knows how to do this.

The problem, he’s realizing, is that he’s never dated _Patrick_ , and while years of friendship should be making that easier, they’re doing the exact opposite. He knows how Patrick likes to unwind and what he likes to do for fun, but Patrick’s pretty obviously setting a higher bar for their dates if he shot down Portillo’s, which Jonny’s normally a total fascist about letting them have. Thinking about what he and Kevin used to do on dates isn’t helpful either, since it mostly involved camping, fishing, or hiking, and then fucking in the woods.

He chews on it for two days after Kaner denies his burgers and cake shakes of desire. They have practice both days, and Patrick has the indecency to exist in Jonny’s breathing room for both of them without letting Jonny do perfectly friendly things like take him home and suck his cock. All Jonny can do is look, and now that he’s looking with purpose he’s noticing all sorts of things he missed before. Pat’s hands, for example, which are weirdly huge and give Jonny all sorts of ideas. Or the way his stupid, awful, tacky gold chain sits across his collarbone, which Jonny would not admit he loves on pain of death but wants to put his mouth all over. Every time that asshole licks his lips, Jonny’s motivation grows. And he licks his lips a _lot._

Casual didn’t work, so Jonny’s ready to get fancy. But every fancy place he’s been to in Chicago, Kaner has also been to, and really, a steakhouse doesn’t seem any more inventive or special than Portillo’s when you get right down to it. So Jonny bites the bullet and asks the fanciest dude he knows.

Once Stalberg stops laughing and Jonny stops dreaming of ways to remove his face, he’s actually pretty helpful. “There’s a lot of nice places around the city,” he says. “What does your mystery lady like? Modern? Classic? Experimental?” He looks at Jonny like any of those words have actual meaning when applied to food as opposed to just being a list of adjectives he rolled out to prove that he’s a fluent English speaker. 

Jonny shifts uncomfortably. “I just wanna impress her,” he says, sucking up the little lie of 'her.' “It doesn’t really matter what kind of food. Just something really good, you know? Something memorable.” He figures it’s a pretty good cover for not having the first fucking clue what he’s talking about.

Viktor looks less than convinced, but says, “Probably the most popular high-end restaurant in the city right now is Alinea. But - “

Jonny doesn’t need to hear any more. He’s already got his phone out. “Can you spell that?”

“A-l-i-n-e-a,” Viktor says. “But seriously, Tazer, you’re not gonna - ”

Jonny’s already got the ringing phone to his ear, though, and just mouths ‘thank you’ to Stally before walking away to make his phone call in peace.

The hostess initially tells him they book three months in advance, and he’ll have to wait for openings to be advertised on Facebook. But Jonny’s not above using his name to get what he wants when it’s important, and if getting Kaner’s pants off isn’t important then the word’s lost all meaning. He has to agree to have his agent call them about a possible publicity opportunity and pay a truly horrifying sum of money, but after about fifteen minutes of what could generously be called negotiation and would honestly be called begging, Jonny’s got a table for two that night at 8:30. He knows for a fact that Kaner has no plans for that night beyond watching _Love Actually_ for the millionth time, so he feels no guilt about texting him, _We’re going out tonight. Pick you up at 7:45. Wear slacks._

* * *

The trouble doesn’t start until the waiter brings out their first course, which is green.

Like really, really green. Chartreuse? Is that a color? It’s also foamy - it reminds Jonny of what comes out of one of those self-foaming soap dispensers. It looks like there’s shredded something under the foam, mixed with kernels of something purple. It’s all sitting in a pool of opaque sunshine-yellow goo, and to add insult to almost certain injury, the whole science experiment comprises approximately one bite of food. 

Jonny vaguely hears the waiter say something about Dungeness crab and plum drops in a sauce of turmeric with fresh Hass avocado foam, but he’s too busy staring at the fiasco on his plate and wondering what in God’s name he’s supposed to _do_ with it. When he looks up, the waiter is gone and Kaner’s looking at his plate like the shredded Dungeness crab might bite him back if he approaches it too quickly. And that’s not okay - this is their second date! Kaner let Jonny keep his hand on the back of his neck the whole ride over and kissed him back when Jonny picked him up. It’s pathetic, but Jonny’s getting sort of ridiculously attached to the breadcrumbs of affection Kaner’s scattering behind him and letting Jonny gather, and he knows that’s absurd but the point is Jonny wants Kaner to enjoy himself. And that’s a whole lot likelier if Jonny can at least pretend to not be totally horrified by their dinner.

“Looks interesting,” he offers. Then he smiles - it’s a real smile, because _Kaner_ , even if the idea of eating what’s in front of him makes him think he may never smile again - picks up his fork, and shovels the very small bite into his mouth. Kaner’s looking at him like he wants to see whether or not Jonny’s gonna explode. It is, unfortunately, a pretty good look on him.

The food’s not _bad_ \- it’s actually really good, if you’re talking strictly about flavor - but the bizarreness of eating something that looks a whole lot more like a bath product than dinner overcomes the taste for Jonny. He perseveres, smiling at Kaner the whole time, who - looks like he’s holding back laughter, actually.

Jonny scowls and swallows. “Don’t know what you’re laughing at,” he snipes, “at least I tried it. It’s not bad.”

Pat raises an eyebrow and pokes the mess with his fork. “I dunno, man,” he says. “Hass avocado foam? I’m pretty sure Erica has some kind of face shit with that in.” He eats it, though, and pronounces it “not the worst,” so Jonny figures things can only go up from there.

They don’t. Jonny lasts two more courses (razor clams, which are fine, and something where the featured ingredient is mustard, which is not), but when they bring out something the waiter calls “lardo di colonnata with chestnut honey crackers and rosemary dust” and it basically looks like a pile of fat with a sprinkling of the contents of a vacuum cleaner bag, he is done. Patrick’s looking at the lardo di whateverthefuck like he’s personally offended by its existence, and fuck their second date, Jonny wants to be out of here _yesterday_. He reaches across the table to where Patrick appears to be summoning the willpower to pick up his fork, covers said fork with his hand, looks Patrick right in the eyes, and says, “Kaner, your migraine must be brutal.”

Patrick stops looking at his plate like it’s from another planet and turns that stare directly on Jonny. “What are you talking about?” he asks. “I’m fine.”

“I’m talking,” Jonny says slowly and carefully, like he might tell a child, “about the migraine you’ve got right now, the one that responds really poorly to being out in public and means we need to go home right now.”

Understanding crashes across Kaner’s face and he nods emphatically. “Oh yeah,” he says. “My head. Migraine. Terrible. _Get us out of here._ ” 

Five minutes and several hundred dollars later, they’re walking down Halsted as quickly as they can manage without looking like they’re fleeing the scene of a crime. 

“Jonny,” Kaner says very seriously. “Jonny, that wasn’t food.”

“I know,” Jonny mutters.

“For real,” Kaner says. “That was …” He sighs and shoves his hands further into his pockets. “Man, I don’t know _what_ that was.”

“I _know,_ ” Jonny snaps. “You don’t gotta make a thing out of it. It was a stupid idea.” He’s pretty sure he’s blushing. He’s never listening to Viktor again about anything in the world. If Viktor says pass left, Jonny’s going to assume there’s a gigantic dragon on the ice to his left and pass right with everything in him.

“Hey,” he hears, and feels Pat’s hand in the crook of his elbow slowing him down. He stops and turns to face Pat, whose gloved hand has slid down to cover Jonny’s. He gives it a quick squeeze and lets go, but Jonny already feels slightly better. “You wanted to impress me, right?” Pat says.

Jonny shrugs. Maybe if he never talks about it it’ll be like it never happened.

“It’s okay,” Pat says, and Jonny is not emotionally prepared for Pat to be the bigger person in any situation they have ever been in, but here they are. “Hey.” Pat steps closer and punches him in the arm lightly. “It’s really okay,” he says. “You tried something new.” He’s grinning now. “Credit for the attempt. 8.7 from the American judge.” 

Jonny rolls his eyes spectacularly and starts walking back towards his car. This time he lets himself lean into Pat, just a little. If anyone sees, they can blame it on the wind.

* * *

Jonny’s starting to think he’s overthinking this whole ‘dates’ thing. Maybe simple is the way to go. Classic. People have been wooing each other for years, and the number of babies Jonny sees everywhere indicates that they have at least _some_ success. And he doesn’t even want a baby! (Yet.) He just wants to get laid. God, he wants to get laid. And maybe cuddle a little. And kiss Patrick’s hair whenever he wants.

So the next night, he shows up at Patrick’s with a dozen roses, Thai takeout, and a plan.

Patrick starts laughing as soon as he sees the roses, and Jonny seriously considers throwing them off the balcony followed by their intended recipient. “Roses, Tazer?” he asks, giggling. “You gonna give me your letter jacket too? Class ring?” He looks sharp pretty quickly, though, when Jonny moves to toss them in the trash chute. “Hey!” he says, snatching them out of Jonny’s hand and pulling them close to himself. He laughs self-consciously, then says, “I’ll go find something to put these in, I guess?” Kaner wanders off in search of some kind of jar, and Jonny goes ahead and starts setting up the food.

He picked up seafood fried rice, red and green curries, and two large orders of drunken noodle - all Pat’s favorites. Pat doesn’t say much while they divide up the food, but he presses himself right against Jonny’s side and stays there, even while he’s chewing curry with his mouth open like a fucking barbarian. 

“You brought me Thai food,” Pat says, when the curries are largely depleted, the noodles devoured and the fried rice picked over. He says it like a kid talking about their presents on Christmas morning. Jonny’s heart fucking _lurches._

“Yup, “ Jonny says, careful not to add ‘and also I think I want to kiss you for the next year.’

“You didn’t have to bring me Thai food,” Pat says. “You don’t even like it that much. You like that gross Chinese place.”

Jonny shrugs. “You like Thai better. I like you. So I brought Thai.” He also ate an order of General Tso’s before coming over, because no matter how good Thai tastes in the moment, he refuses to admit he likes it on the principle that if it’s Pat’s favorite it can’t be that good. The result is that he’s now so full he thinks he might actually die.

Pat grins to himself and cuddles closer. And that’s awesome, that’s … that’s really, really awesome. But Jonny has to stay on task here. He’s already fucked up twice. He’s not going to do it again. 

So he regretfully untangles himself from where Pat’s getting comfortable, claps him on the shoulder, and says, “Okay buddy, up off the couch.” 

Pat looks betrayed, and also is kind of tipping over now that he doesn't have Jonny to lean on. “What? Why?” he asks. 

Jonny really, really wants to kiss him. Instead, he says, “We are taking a romantic walk by the lake. In the moonlight.” He nods for emphasis, trying to convey with his eyebrows how serious he is.

Pat mutinously digs deeper into the couch. “Jonny,” he groans, “it’s fucking _January._ In _Chicago._ I am not taking a walk by the lake with you at night. Probably freeze my fuckin’ hands off, and then what’ll you do, huh?”

“I’m from Winnipeg,” Jonny says. “You’re from Buffalo. Are you seriously telling me you can’t hack it?” He does his best to make it sound like a challenge.

After a few seconds of just glaring at each other, Pat huffs a sigh and climbs off the couch. “Fine,” he grumbles. “Fine. See how long it takes before you fold.”

* * *

About fifteen minutes into the walk, Jonny’s forced to admit, if only to himself, that Pat’s right and this was a ridiculous plan. It’s 6 degrees out without the wind chill, and Jonny doesn’t even want to know what the temperature is once you factor in the wind off the lake. There’s no moonlight. Instead, the sky’s that weird orange color it gets on winter nights, and the sky over the lake is just deep, dark gray. Worst of all, it’s fucking windy as shit, and the waves on the lake are kicking ice-cold spray onto the promenade. On the one hand, the miserable conditions give Jonny an excuse to pull Pat close and keep him there while they walk, no one else (dumb enough) out to see. On the other hand, it’s cold enough that Pat’s arm locked around Jonny’s waist doesn’t feel like affection, it feels like survival. They make it about half a mile before Pat digs his elbow into Jonny’s ribs and says, “Turn around.”

Jonny looks down at Pat and raises an eyebrow, trying to look as superior as possible while his teeth are chattering and his nose is running. “Really?” he says. “Giving up already?”

Pat just digs his elbow in harder. “Fuck you,” he growls. “I think my face is falling off.” But he squeezes Jonny’s hip, and he doesn’t let go on the very fast walk home.

* * *

When they get back to Pat’s, Pat wastes no time in jacking up the heat and pulling what looks like a very well-loved quilt out of the basket of blankets in the corner of his living room. He kicks off his shoes, climbs onto the couch with the blanket tucked around him, and glares at Jonny. “Well?” he demands, looking pissy.

Jonny hasn’t even fully managed to get his shoes off yet. “Well what?” he says blankly.

Pat looks at Jonny like he’s the dumbest fuck who ever lived, lifts the corner of the blanket, and says, “You coming?”

Jonny gets his winter stuff off a lot more quickly after that.

Once he’s joined Pat on the couch, Jonny submits to being elbowed and yanked until Pat’s got him arranged how he wants, which turns out to be with Jonny as the big spoon, Pat pressed firmly against his front. Pat pulls Jonny’s arm more securely across his body, clicks on the TV, and starts mindlessly channel surfing. And Jonny doesn’t think this is meant to go anywhere - after all, nearly killing the guy you’re trying to date probably doesn’t count as success, at least not by Pat’s standards - but this is, actually, the first time Jonny’s been able to touch this much of Pat’s body at once since that first night in the hallway. 

It’s pretty fucking great, not least of all because Pat’s ass is pressing right up against Jonny’s dick. Jonny knows he’s supposed to be the one with the booty, but if anyone asked him his opinion (they won’t) he’d tell them that Pat’s is pretty fucking spectacular. He’s not really thinking - well, he’s thinking about all the things he wants to do to Pat’s spectacular ass - when he rolls his hips forward, just a little bit but with unmistakable intent.

Jonny freezes. He’s pretty sure anything involving either of their dicks is strictly off limits until Pat’s date quota is filled, and he doesn’t know how Pat is going to respond to being involuntarily humped but he thinks he’s about to get in a lot of trouble. He’s absolutely not prepared for Pat to press _back._

Jonny reflexively pulls him in tighter, which is when Pat starts to move away. Jonny groans into his hair and tightens his hand on Pat’s chest. “Patrick,” he whispers, and Pat squeezes his hand before gently but firmly disentangling himself and sliding over so he’s next to Jonny.

“Not yet,” he says, but then he sort of stops and shoots a sideways look at Jonny, “It’s been three dates, though,” he says. “And you’ve been trying really hard, even if you kind of suck at it.” 

Jonny doesn’t care about the insult. He _has_ been trying hard. _Really_ hard. He nods, too unsure of the situation to risk speaking and ruining it. 

Pat’s starting to grin, and it’s more than a little filthy. “I could give you a preview,” he says. “Show you what you’re waiting for.” And then he _reaches down and palms his cock_ , and Jonny thinks he might actually die.

“Are you serious?” he manages.

Pat’s face slips, just a little. “Or not,” he says, and starts to move his hand away.

Jonny panics. “No! Yes!” he babbles, lunging forward and grabbing Pat’s wrist. “No, I just - no,” he says, more calmly. “I want you. I want whatever you’ll give me. And if this - ” he gestures awkwardly to Pat’s entire body - “is what I can have right now, I’ll take it. Just.” He squeezes Pat’s wrist and sits back and doesn’t finish the sentence. 

Maybe Pat’s motivated by the heat of Jonny’s eyes on him, or maybe he’s got an exhibitionist streak that Jonny hadn’t seen coming (and is absolutely weak for, like he’s absolutely weak for everything about Patrick), but Pat gets way more into it than Jonny expected, and he can’t look away. On some level Jonny knows this is just proof of how far gone he is, because a porn star Pat is definitely not, but Jon doesn’t care. Watching Pat stroke himself, curve towards his own hand while he’s gasping, has Jonny hard embarrassingly fast. When Pat drops his other hand behind his balls to play with his ass, Jonny groans audibly and thunks his head against the back of the couch. He knows better than to touch himself - Pat didn’t say he could, and Jonny’s pretty sure this show doesn’t include crowd participation - but Pat’s making it hard to think about anything else.

Pat looks over at Jonny and licks his lips. Jonny thunks his head twice more for good measure and tightens his fingers in the couch cushions to keep himself from falling forward onto Patrick’s cock. 

“You thought about this, Jonny?” Pat asks, voice breathy as he strokes himself with one hand, gently teasing himself with the other. “Thought about fucking me? Doing this to me yourself?”

“Yes,” Jonny grits out. “Fuck you, yes.” His fingers dig into the couch cushions and he doesn’t touch or take his eyes off Pat. “Thought about fucking you, thought about you fucking me … Jesus Christ, Patrick. I thought about _everything._ ”

Pat’s hand’s speeding up, and he’s biting down on his lower lip. Jonny wants to fuck him through the back of the couch. “Want you so bad,” he gasps. “Want - ” And then he’s coming, face ridiculous and hotter than Jonny had ever imagined.

Jonny hates literally everything about his life.

* * *

Jonny wakes up the next morning in his own bed, alone, feeling better than he has since Pat got back from Biel. Because - okay. Okay. Intellectually, Jonny had more or less believed Pat was into him, but all the weird rejection and ultimatums had been quietly doing a number on his confidence. Seeing how much Pat wants him, though - seeing the effect he has on Pat - it’s put Jonny back into the loose-and-easy headspace he’d found after Pat initially laid out his dating requirements. He can do this. He just needs to figure out the winning move.

He picks Patrick up for practice (because he does that now, it’s part of his “look at what a good boyfriend I am” initiative) and, in response to Pat’s cheerful, “Morning, asshole,” wraps a hand around his jaw and hauls him in for a kiss which he immediately turns dirty. Unlike pretty much every other time, Jonny’s the one to pull away first. He looks into Pat’s eyes, grins, and says, “Morning.” Then he drives to the Ice House, a smile on his face and a goddamn song in his heart, while Kaner sits stunned beside him.

Jonny’s planning to spend the rest of the day after practice by himself so he can really think this through. He’s even got plans - there’s a sandwich place Bollig’s been raving about on the West Side, in a neighborhood Jonny’s never been to, and he really wants to try it. Jonny feels pretty guilty about how little of Chicago he sees, what with living there and being beloved by it and all, but he almost never uses the free time he has to explore. This is a perfect opportunity to see something new. He’s pretty positive the sandwiches at this place aren’t trainer-approved, but neither is ranch dressing, and he puts that on everything. No one’s gotta know.

But when he asks Pat if there’s anyone else he can get a ride home with, Pat actually looks pretty disappointed. “Why?” he asks. “Trying to get rid of me?” He’s smiles like he’s kidding, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

The last thing Jonny wants is for Pat to think he doesn’t want him around. “I’ve just got some shit I wanna do,” he says. “You can come if you want. I just figured you’d wanna get home.”

Pat shrugs and gets into Jonny’s passenger side. “Rather hang out with you,” he says, and shoots that million dollar grin, and yeah. Jonny’s okay with that.

The sandwich place winds up being in a neighborhood that has definitely seen better days. Pat raises his eyebrows when Jonny parks, but Jonny didn’t drag their asses all the way out here to give up just because things look sketchy. He slams the car door for emphasis, and a second later hears Patrick’s door close as Patrick follows him into the unknown.

They get inside and Jonny squints up at the menu. “Boller said we want the, uh. Jibarito con bistec?” Jonny’s Spanish is actually pretty awful, and Pat rolls his eyes, digging his elbow into Jonny’s side.

“Fuckin’ hopeless, Taze,” he snorts.

Jonny ignores him, because Jonny speaks two languages and Patrick barely speaks one, and it’s not Spanish. And anyway, it’s not Patrick’s fault American public schools are for shit. Jonny’s being the bigger person. He even buys Pat’s sandwich. That’s how much bigger he is. 

All Pat’s mocking and where-the-fuck-are-we eyes disappear after the first bite of his sandwich, which is a glorious mess of sliced steak, lettuce, tomato and mayo on deep-fried plantains instead of bread. The whole thing’s rubbed with garlic and oil. It’s basically perfect. “You fuckin’ doubted?” Jonny asks around a mouth of deep-fried plantain. He gestures with his sandwich for emphasis. 

Patrick just sort of moans and doesn’t look up from where he’s devastating what was once a sandwich and is now a pile of filling and tostones. They get two more to go. 

Once back in Jonny’s car, Pat reaches over and runs his fingers through the short hair at the base of Jonny’s skull. Jonny closes his eyes, leaning back into the touch. Pat keeps his hand there and presses in with his fingers, asking, “Where to now, el capitan?”

Jonny snorts but keeps his eyes closed, enjoying the gentle back-and-forth of Pat’s fingers. He wants to say _my place, your place, anywhere with a bed_ , but instead he says, “How about a movie?” He opens his eyes at Pat’s skeptical “hmm,” and says, “We could go somewhere out here. Might be fun.”

Movies aren’t the easiest thing in the world for them. There’s not actually a ton of theaters in Chicago, and the easy downtown ones are always incredibly busy and full of people who know their faces. But it’s the middle of the day, and they’re already off the beaten track. Pat looks skeptical, but he pulls out his phone, and after a minute he says, “There’s a theater a little north of here on the other side of the Kennedy. We could give it a shot.”

The theater, as it turns out, is pretty much empty. They sneak in their sandwiches and Patrick insists on getting the biggest soda they have, shit-eating grin on his face as he says, “Gotta stay hydrated.” Jonny pays for it and for their tickets, and when Pat looks at him a little funny, Jonny shrugs. “You’ll get me next time.” 

The movie’s pretty bad, loud and full of guns and Jason Statham, but Jonny’s much more interested in the way Patrick burrows into his side as soon as the lights go down. They’re in the back row, and there’s no way anyone could mistake them for just friends. Pat’s hand is resting on Jonny’s leg just above his knee and he’s slumped over, head propped on Jonny’s chest. Jonny, for his part, can’t stop running his hand over Pat’s shoulder - he’s kind of obsessed with Patrick’s shoulders. He’s only human. Pat lets Jonny kiss him a couple times, and that’s pretty great too.

The movie ends without Jonny having much of an idea of what happened, but Patrick practically bounces out of the theater. He loves those stupid movies. He’s still making gun gestures with his right hand (the left is tangled with Jonny’s on the center console of the car) when Jonny turns off the Kennedy and starts heading for Trump Tower.

Pat’s brow furrows in confusion. “Where are you going?” 

“Dropping you off,” Jonny says, looking at Pat out of the corner of his eye. “Growing hockey players need their sleep, eh?”

“Nah,” Pat says, and he squeezes Jonny’s hand. “Let’s go back to your place.”

Pat’s lucky they’re stopped at a light, because Jonny needs a second to get himself together after that. He doesn’t say anything in response - doesn’t trust himself - just puts on his blinker to turn south instead of east and tries not to vibrate out of his skin with anticipation.

Pat lets go of Jonny’s hand after Jonny parks, and he keeps a reasonable distance between them on the way up to the condo, but the looks he’s shooting Jonny across the elevator are absolutely filthy. As soon as the door to Jonny’s condo closes behind them, Pat’s on him, practically shoving him into the wall and dragging his mouth down to meet Pat’s.

“Fucking _finally,_ ” he gasps out in between kisses. “I didn’t know if you’d ever fucking get it.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jonny hisses, grabbing Pat’s ass and pulling his hips in.

They make it to Jonny’s bedroom, because fuck _no_ is his first time with Patrick gonna be in his hallway, but once there Pat shoves him onto his back, climbs on top, and says, “Relax, Jonny.” He leans down and kisses him again - Jonny tightens his hands on Patrick’s back, holding him close for a second - but Patrick’s already pulling away. He’s taking his shirt off, though, so it’s okay. 

Jonny’s not sure how Pat expects him to relax when he’s pulling Jonny’s shirt off, stripping off his own pants, and moving to lay between Jonny’s legs. He runs his hands firmly over the cut of Jonny’s hips, tracing the muscles with his fingertips, before undoing Jonny’s jeans, pushing them and his boxers off, and basically inhaling Jonny’s cock. 

The image of Pat between his legs, perfect fucking shoulders working as one huge hand wraps around Jonny’s cock and the other slides down to anchor in the meat of his ass, mouth that Jonny’s jerked off thinking about an embarrassing number of times working him over, is one that’s gonna be with Jonny for a long time. He’s on edge faster than he’d like, but Patrick doesn’t fucking let up for one second, and Jonny’s gasping his name and bucking into his mouth after what feels like no time at all. He lays there after, totally useless, while Pat just grins his shit-eatingest grin and runs his hands over Jonny’s hips and thighs. Jonny thinks Pat might have a thing about them. Jonny’s fine with it.

He grabs Pat’s shoulder and tugs ineffectually, trying to move Pat up the bed so Jonny can suck him off in return. Pat is openly laughing at Jonny’s post-orgasm difficulty functioning, and when Jonny tries to summon up his captain’s glare, says, “Dude, I just swallowed your come.” 

He pretty clearly doesn’t have any interest in resisting, though, and Jonny’s rewarded with a high-pitched gasp and Pat’s hand in his hair when he gets him mouth around him a minute later. Patrick, to Jonny’s total lack of surprise, is mouthy in bed, moaning about how good it feels and pleading totally shamelessly for Jonny to make him come.

Jonny does.

Jonny’s got Pat close after, arm wrapped around him and legs threaded through his, and he’s feeling really relaxed when he asks, “So what changed your mind, anyway?”

Pat lifts his head from Jonny’s chest and gives him a funny look. “What do you mean?” he asks. “I didn’t change my mind. You got it right today.”

Jonny’s hand stills, because - what? “What are you talking about?” he asks.

Pat sits all the way up, and Jonny immediately dislikes it. Pat’s breaking all their points of contact. “Our date today,” Pat says, uncertainty creeping into his expression. 

Jonny’s eyebrows shoot up. “ _That?_ ” he asks, disbelieving. “We ate sandwiches and went to a movie!”

Pat’s pulling away and his expression is getting stormy, and that won’t do at fucking _all._ Jonny grabs his arm and hauls him back in. “Wait wait wait,” he says, and kisses Pat again. Pat’s not as eager as before, but he kisses back. Jonny’ll take it. “It’s not that - I - “ He exhales in frustration and starts again. “I took you out for an $800 dinner and all you wanted was sandwiches and a movie?” He rolls them over, pressing Pat into the bed and holding him down by the shoulders. “Kaner,” Jonny says very seriously, “if I had known, I would have brought you three sandwiches a day.”

“So what was today?” Pat says, face still unsettled.

Jonny rolls to the side and shrugs. “Today was just me doing something fun and you coming along.” He keeps his arms around Pat and says, “I’m glad it worked, though. You were just so fucking lasered in on this whole dates thing, something like what we did today didn’t seem special enough.” He pauses, because - wait a second. “Why was that, anyway?” he asks.

He feels Pat shrug, and shifts with him as Pat rolls onto his side, back to Jonny. He’s silent for a long moment, then says, “I’ve just never actually dated.”

Jonny doesn’t jerk back in surprise, but only because he’s a professional athlete with elite control over his body. “You’re serious?” he asks cautiously.

Pat digs himself deeper into the mattress. “Yeah, man,” he says quietly. “You know how hard it is to meet people in our situation. You’re lucky you met Kevin, you know? I just … getting laid was never the problem.” He sighs. “Anyway, I never did, and you’re …” He rolls over so he’s facing Jonny, but proceeds to make eye contact with his ear. “I just, you know. I don’t know if I’m gonna be on the market again. And I didn’t want to … never have.” He finally meets Jonny’s eyes, and Jonny’ll be fucked if it isn’t the same face Pat had on in that hotel room six years ago, when he told Jonny he didn’t fuck girls and dared him to do something about it. 

Jonny’s struck completely dumb by Pat’s admission. Jonny’s gone for Pat and he knows it, but he hadn’t been willing to believe it was mutual. This, though … 

“I don’t want you to be. On the market again, I mean,” Jonny says quietly, and Pat’s grin in response is blinding. 

There’s one more thing, though. Jonny leans back, putting some distance between them.

“Kaner,” he says, even though his dick wants him to shut up and get back with the program. 

“Yeah, yeah, what?” Pat asks, pulling ineffectively on Jonny’s hip. 

“You could have just asked me,” Jonny says. “I wouldn’t have said no.” He sits up a little bit, puts his hand on his heart, and says, “I, Jonathan Bryan Toews, promise to take you, Patrick Timothy Kane Jr., out for as many cheap sandwiches and shitty movies as you want, and buy you flowers, and make you feel pretty.” 

Jonny knows he earned the punch to the arm he gets. But he doesn’t give a fuck. It is the first of many more to come. 

**Author's Note:**

> Everywhere Jonny takes Pat is real. I have never been to Alinea or the movie theater, but I have been to both [Portillo's ](http://www.portillos.com/portillos/) and [Borinquen](http://www.yelp.com/biz/borinquen-restaurant-chicago-2:) and they are both glorious. I have also been to the lake on cold nights, though never that cold, because I am not a fucking moron. 
> 
> I went to college in Chicago and miss it like crazy, and I worked extra hard to get all the geographical details right since nothing annoys me more than random factual errors. Please drop a line if you see anything I can correct.


End file.
